Influencing Centripetal Force
by ALC Punk
Summary: Post Crossroads 2 fic. Contains speculation for season four, including some rumors I've heard. Sam Anders finds himself past the crossroads.


Fandom: BSG2003 Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders Spoilers: Crossroads 2, and some speculation I've heard regarding season four.  
Rating: Rish. Sex. Meaningful sex, even. Ugh.  
Length: 2,000+ Notes: Is bedtime.

Influencing Centripetal Force by ALC Punk!

They were laughing and drunk. Kara had to keep reminding herself that it wasn't like before--they weren't innocents, grateful to Gods who had let her come back for him. They weren't grateful for having rescued each other (Sam had always thought he was the only one rescued, and Kara had never explained to him that he was wrong until he'd been asleep, and no one would hear her words). Kara Thrace wasn't challenging Sam Anders to shot after shot to dull the edge and the disquiet in her gut that --this peace wouldn't last--.

She knew, of course, that it hadn't. The Cylons had inevitably found them.

Maybe she was dulling the pain with the ambrosia they were sharing. Connor had handed Sam the bottle when they'd passed earlier, claiming they obviously needed it after the weeks she'd spent in hack.

Kara thought they did.

They were laughing and joking, talking like nothing had changed. Her death was ignored, or maybe they danced around it like it was an invisible hole in the floor they didn't want to look in. Kara could understand that. She didn't want to talk about her death, either.

Light glinted off the tag he was still wearing, and Kara stopped ignoring the tanks he was wearing. They hadn't had a chance to simply talk. It had been hands on the glass between them and Sam's half-smirk of encouragement. No questions, no answers, and only one mouthed 'I love you'. She tilted her head, "So. Pilot, huh?"

"Someone had to pick up your slack," he mocked, gesturing with his empty glass.

A laugh escaped her, and she scoffed at him. "You can fly?"

"Maybe."

"Oh, Sammy, maybe ain't good enough if you're ever gonna be more than a rook." Kara mocked cheerfully.

"Hey." he waggled a finger at her, his eyes laughing, "They haven't put me in a cockpit, yet. And don't call me that."

For a moment, Kara studied him, assessing him as an instructor. In her half-drunk state, she figured he was coordinated and capable and calm. Though whether that would translate well in the cockpit, she wasn't sure. Though he was a determined asshole, and stubborn as frak. He might actually make a decent pilot.

The other reason this wasn't like the last time they'd sat in the bunk room and gotten drunk was that there was no uncertainty, this time. They knew each other. Kara knew he was going to stop drinking within a shot or two, and Sam knew she'd mock him and then kiss him senseless. They might get interrupted, but it wouldn't take their attention from each other. Although, with Kara's boots and two marines outside the door, the idea that they'd get interrupted was almost enough to make her laugh again.

"Sam."

He tilted his head, suddenly wary, as though expecting a blow. "Yeah?"

Reaching out, she took the bottle and moved it to the other end of the table, "You don't have to get me drunk, I will sleep with you."

Sam looked at her, eyes wide and vulnerable for a moment before he held out a hand to her. "C'mere." When her fingers clasped his, he tugged, pulling her up and into his lap with one smooth yank.

"Oof," Kara murmured.

There were other things they were supposed to say, her memory reminded her. But there was no audience, and little point. Neither of them were charity cases. When she kissed him, leaning forward and tasting the ambrosia on his lips, Kara wasn't branding him her property. The black lines on their arms already gave the lie to her suggestion that she wasn't as owned as he was.

Sam's tanks came off first, because Kara was impatient to feel more of his skin naked under her fingers. Maybe she was affirming her own life, and maybe she just craved him.

His mouth moved from hers to her neck, kissing down until he could tug the neck of her shirts out of his way and nip at the juncture of shoulder and neck. The spike of pain sent a jolt through her, and Kara's nails dug into his sides. "Sam."

"Not fast enough?" he teased, his own hands tugging her shirts up and baring her belly to his touch.

Kara leaned backwards, enjoying the attention, and wishing he'd hurry it up. "Yes--" his hand dipped down into the waistband of her pants, fingers teasing her simply by brushing against her through her underwear. "--no. I--Gods."

It was almost worse than then. At the time, she'd only sort of known what Sam Anders could do to her body. Now, he'd been married to her for over a year, and his mouth, lips and fingers knew every spot that made her skin tingle and her insides ache. But then, she knew the same things about him. Kara reached out and slid her own hand down between them.

Now it was Sam's turn to groan, and his head dropped back, eyes slitting in pleasure. "Kara..."

She stroked a finger against him through his trousers. "Yes, Sam?"

A soft laugh escaped him, and he reached for her tanks again, "Arms up, Mrs. Anders."

"I'm still a captain, rookie." Kara pointed out. But she raised her arms so he could remove her tanks and bra.

Kissing him with their shirts off was much better, she decided, rubbing her breasts against his chest and enjoying feeling her nipples harden more. Sam seemed to think so to, as one of his hands came up to play with her breasts. He'd always liked her breasts.

Minutes passed, and Kara felt oddly comfortable doing nothing but kissing. Except for the part where the rest of her body was reminding her that there was more to this naked thing than kissing. Eventually, a little reluctantly, she pulled back and poked his chest. "We're wearing too much clothing, Sam."

He patted her ass, then grinned, "We could fix it."

She leaned in and kissed him again, sucking at his lower lip before replying, "We could."

This time, she was ready for him to stand, lifting her as he did so. She didn't squeak, although the urge was there. Once on their feet, they moved towards the rack Sam was using, kissing and touching and helping each other with their belts until Kara realized it wasn't getting them anywhere.

Laughing, she pulled her mouth from his, "Pants, Sam."

"You, too," he murmured, backing away to remove the offending garments.

Kara pulled the covers down and out of the way before shedding her underwear and pants. Standing in her socks, she glanced at her husband and grinned. He was hot, naked and obviously happy to see her. Reaching out, she brushed a finger against the tip of his cock. "You first."

Not objecting, he climbed into the rack, rolling onto his back and holding out his hand to her.

Any other man would have objected. Kara swallowed as she climbed in, wondering how the frak she'd gotten Sam Anders close enough to touch. She had never had a lover who'd seemed to instinctively understand her boundaries and not push them. Settling on top of him, legs straddling his, she decided that maybe she should stop thinking stupid maudlin shit and just frak him until they were both senseless.

Sam's hands moved to her hips, settling her into place above him. Knowing she was already slick and ready for him, Kara twisted slightly, reaching between them and sliding down onto him. It was a little like fitting a puzzle piece into place--even though it had been several weeks since she'd had sex, Sam still fit just right. Half-closing her eyes, Kara remained still for a moment, savoring this fact.

Beginning to move, Kara leaned forward, bracing herself against Sam's chest. His hands moved down her legs to her knees and then back up.

There was something frighteningly deliberate in Sam's movements. As if he weren't as drunk as he'd seemed. As if his hands could memorize her body as they crossed over it, inch by inch. Before her skin was soaked in sweat, Kara tried to rationalize it: he'd thought she was dead.

She forgot how to think after a while, Sam's skin slick under her fingers, his body hard unders hers and his mouth moving against her own.

His hands stroked her slowly from hips to breasts and back down as she arched above him. His body moved just as slowly inside of her, drawing out the pleasure in an almost unbearable ache until she came with a rush that sent her head spinning and her senses reeling.

Coming down, she sagged forwards, then pushed back up when her over-stimulated skin touching his made her flinch.

"Kara?" He sounded half-drugged and half-impatient.

"Don't move for a minute," she murmured, eyes closing as she tried to tell her body that it was totally used to this sort of stimulation and it could just stop being stupid now, please. She tried to ignore the feel of him still hard inside of her, but breathing moved both of them, and the tiny movements sent sparks from her groin up her back.

It had been this bad when they came back from Caprica. Kara had actually kicked him out of the rack and suggested he use his hands to finish the job, back then. Of course he'd laughed and suggested her mouth could make itself useful. She'd thrown a punch, at that, but he'd dodged, and in the ensuing scuffle, she'd ended up with her back against the wall and Sam's mouth on her tits as he took them both over the edge. The cold of the wall had helped to steady her.

There was no cold in her rack, only heat and Sam.

"Frak," she muttered before tightening her inner muscles around him, determined to get him off before she wanted to kill him.

They both moaned.

"Kara," Sam's hands moved to frame her face. "Can I move now?"

"Frak. Yes." Something Kara refused to acknowledge as a squeak escaped her as he moved, pushing upwards.

Too much stimulation, again, but she stopped caring. She fell forward into Sam, kissing him frantically. She wanted it to stop, and yet it felt so gods-damned good, she didn't want it to stop. When she clenched around him again, he clamped his hands on her hips, pulling her down hard against him.

Kara rode his orgasm out, grinding against him and sparking off a secondary spasm of her own.

"No moving," Sam gasped, arms moving to wrap around her and hold her still against his chest.

"Might have to kill you," she suggested.

"Something like that."

The sweat had begun to dry when Kara moved, climbing out of the rack when Sam's arms released her. He watched her, head turned to the side and eyes dark and opaque. Like he was expecting her to pull her clothes on and go.

She couldn't blame him. She had, at least ten times before. Or she'd made him leave with cruel words and indifference.

Turning away from his eyes, she rummaged in her locker (her stuff was still there, and she wondered who she had to thank for that), coming up with an old t-shirt and a rag. The rag she swiped between her legs before tossing it at Sam. The t-shirt she pulled over her head before she started grabbing their clothes off the floor. It took her a little time to find her bra, and Sam got up to help, pulling his boxers back on in the process.

With their clothing in a bundle, Kara looked back at his rack. "Uh, I--" she licked her lips, suddenly sure he did want her to leave, as she had before.

"Your rack's taken, you know."

She'd figured. But hearing it made her flinch. She gestured to the hatch. "Let me get dressed and--"

"My rack, of course, has more than enough room..."

They were both silent for a moment, and then Kara looked up and met his eyes, "Maybe you should have gotten me too drunk to move."

"I like you moving," he murmured, stepping past her and opening the hatch. He didn't say anything as he closed it again, her boots in his hand. But there was something very deliberate about the way he set them at the foot of his rack and then turned to sit.

Weeks with nothing but glass between them slid through Kara's memories. And before that, months where they'd only shared a bed to frak.

Something caught in her throat, remembering the frightening sweetness of waking in Sam's arms, tangled together with the smell of moldy tent and early-morning sunlight surrounding them. Kara straightened her shoulders and moved towards him, dropping her clothing on her boots. "I'm kicking you out if you snore."

"You're louder than me," he objected, laying on his side, his back against the wall.

"Am not."

Climbing in after him was harder than she'd thought it would be, and she turned away from him to face the rest of the room.

"Close the drapes," Sam murmured from behind her.

"Right." Reaching out, she yanked them closed, then let herself roll backwards until she was leaning against his chest. "Night, Sam."

"Night, Kara."

She had no idea how long it was before she fell asleep, but she was fairly certain that Sam was still awake when she did.

-f- 


End file.
